nothing

He asks what I have been doing all morning, likely wondering why I ask him to leave me alone and delay his arrival as long as possible.

He asks me what I have been doing so far this day,
and I say,
"Nothing," in a sigh,
which I know makes him nuts.


I am not willing to bare myself in words, to risk being seen as a flake, to tell him I am enjoying just being me, the air coming in the windows, the dry grass crunchy under my slippers padding way out back in my snowman pajama pants with the soft-cotton wear holes, and the headband on sleep hair, to replenish bird food hoping they'll be back despite me starving them all week long.

That I want to feel attractive to you, to feel like a woman, to love a man's body long and loudly and freely instead of feeling bashful for being so horny;
that I want to be alone all day and go for walks in the sun, make my muscles strong again, get skinny, daydream spring's gardening days.

That sometimes I feel my inner spark, the burst that is me, growing back.

That it's always been a challenge for me to grow into my partner, or with my partner, instead of independently and away. (only one person ever exalted my day dreaming side, the part i protect like a mother bear)
I don't know which direction to go in to try, but I am trying to go that way.

I can't stop it that sometimes I just want to fly away to simpler things, find my old dreaming self- the one who watched the sea and sweat poems.